


Hephestus School for Gifted Children

by BBCotaku



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: ASL, Alternate Universe - High School, Multi, Mute!Hera
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BBCotaku/pseuds/BBCotaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It hadn't taken Doug long to figure out the real meaning behind the whole gifted thing, just one read of the black and red flyer plastered proudly on his family's fridge was enough to shift the pieces into place. </p>
<p>Problem.</p>
<p> A School for Problem Children, and he was a problem child."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't Fuck it up

**Author's Note:**

> Summary: Our premier chapter: 16-year-old Douglass Eiffel new student at Hephaestus School for gifted children finds first day nerves to be the least of his worries between hiding his stash of cigarettes, dealing with passive aggressive teachers and a roommate he can't understand. Plus Buffy the Vampire Slayer, peeling paint, butchered ASL and an AU no one asked for.
> 
> (I made a post about about making a high school au a while ago. So here it is.
> 
> Also I'm using American Sign Language instead of the mixture of English and Australian that I used in Alone Together.)

No one gave a shit when Douglass Eiffel transferred schools. Not his teachers, not his friends and not his family (or if they did they didn't show it). For a long time—as long as he could remember—Doug had prided himself on being the middle-man. Not quite bright, not quite dumb, not quite annoying, not quite funny, not quite nerdy, not quite cool. This had now proved to blow up in his face as no one was sure to be happy or sad at his disappearance so they were just neutral. Like him. 

Okay, that's not completely true. The other parents gave a shit (though not his parents). They ummed and tutted, and talked about it among themselves. That's it. 

Doug had started to feel like Dr Griffen when his Taxi finally halted next to Hephestus School for Gifted Children. It hadn't taken Doug long to figure out the real meaning behind the whole gifted thing, just one read of the black and red flyer plastered proudly on his family's fridge was enough to shift the pieces into place. 

Problem.

A School for Problem Children, and he was a problem child. 

"Oi." The taxi driver snapped her fingers, fake, ruby red nails sliding past each other with a skin-crawling, attention-grabbing sound. 

"Hm?" 

"We're here."

"Yeah?" 

The Taxi driver scowled and pointed her Edward Sissorhands fingers at the door by Eiffel's side. 

"That means you get out." 

"Right." Doug made a deal of pushing open the door with great exaggeration. Jutting out his elbow as he tugged on the door handle, spinning ever so slightly on his heel as he slammed the back door shut. The driver looked like she was ready to drive off with his stuff by the time he got to the trunk of the car, speeding off as soon as it closed under his touch. 

Doug watched the taxi abandon him at the school gates with a raised eyebrow. 

"Rude much?" he mumbled, shifting his duffle bag strap over his shoulder and turning to face the shit hole that was the Hephaestus. When Doug googled "boarding schools" he was met with a wave of old-fashioned castles and mansions that would make J.K. Rowling proud. The Hephaestus was old, that was for sure, but not in a grand way. More a will-blow-down-in-a-storm kind of way. Peeling paint, weather-washed bricks, dust and a smiling man that looked like that creepy fuck from The Purge standing at it's gate. 

"Doug!" The man grinned wider. "How the actual fuck can a person smile that much? "Welcome, how was your drive?"

"It was—" Doug began.

"Good, my name's Cutter."

"As in first name?"

"Now, I came out here to give you quick briefing of the rules round here."

Doug's eyebrow's couldn't move any further up his head without becoming their own separate beings. 

"Are you even listening to me?" He asked without thinking. 

Cutter's grin grew (seriously what the fuck?) and his clapped his hands together.

"You shouldn't talk to your teacher's like that Eiffel, and if you do again I will hang you out of the fourth-story by your ankles." He spoke with a causal tone, his voice not wavering or slowing for a second. His expression didn't change, his eyebrows didn't knit together, he didn't seem upset or angry. But still, somehow, Doug wasn't sure if he was kidding. 

A small squeak was all that formed in Doug's throat as Mr Cutter cocked his head to the side, fingers intertwined. 

"Now we're clear," he continued extending a gloved hand. "I'm afraid I need your phone, don't worry you'll get it back Saturday morning. Rules are Rules after all." Cutter turned and started walking towards the school without warning, Doug's phone grasped tightly between his fingers, he walked with a straight back and stiff limbs, looking as though he didn't want to touch the air around him. The new student rushed forward to follow him, tripping ever so slightly over his own to feet. 

"All students must be back in their dorms by seven o'clock sharp, light's out at nine, if you're caught outside your dorm after dark..." Cutter chuckled lightly. "Well, let's just say you do not want to be caught."

Doug really couldn't tell if he was being serious or if this was just some fucked up way he control his students. 

"Yep, got it," he said, trying to mimic the teacher's cool and collective expression and tone. 

"Good." 

They stepped into the dorm building, a tall, grey building that looked like a large cinder block. One of the building's that wasn't show in the flyer as it looked like crap—even more than the rest of school. The paint peeked back several layers, tiles covered in jagged cracks from dropped books, weird and super gross stains on the equally dull-grey wallpaper. Doug scanned the hall, trying to figure out if this was in fact a school or abandoned horror movie set. 

Cutter on the other had not stopped talking, apparently very proud of his own voice as he nattered on and on about rules and regulations, the usual. Don't do this, don't do that. 

Not that Doug was really listening, he'd pick it all up as he went along. 

The words "Wolf 359," however caught Doug's attention, bringing it away from the wall. 

"Huh?" He asked, cocking his head innocently, and purposely to the side. 

"Your dorm," Cutter answered pointing to one of the many planks of crap lining the walls that were apparently doors. "Wolf 359." 

Doug glanced at the two other dorms either side of his own: Deneb and Canopus.

"Where's Wolf 538 and 7?" 

Cutter gave him The Look. The "Goddamnit Doug" look he'd gotten from tens of teachers over the years when he was being particularly annoying. What could be say? It was a talent. 

"Why don't you meet your roommates?" Cutter asked, jabbing his finger at the door once again. It wasn't a suggestion, if anything it was a demand.

No, order. Doug decided giving the teacher a small nod. This guy didn't give demands, demands could be ignored. Cutter marched off back down the hall without so much as a goodbye—not that this was a bad thing—after all the guy radiated "don't fuck with me." 

And now he was just stalling.  
Doug rapped at the door sharply with his knuckles, took a deep breath, a step back and smiled at the opening door. 

A girl looked at him with a raised eyebrow, dark skin and bright purple hair, her head slightly slanted to the side with curiosity. She said nothing, looking his up and down and giving him the once over before turning on her heel, not even giving him a chance to introduce himself. She raised her hand to her forehead, pressing her fingers and thumb together once, twice. 

"Hilbert wins," a female voice called from inside the room, sounding disappointed. 

Doug peeked round the half open door and saw a room of six bunk beds crammed into a long, thin hall-like room. Only the four top bunks were made, one of them haphazardly the other three pristine and neat. The bottom bunks of the three occupied beds held what looked like personal items, pencil cases, texts books. Also a big, cloudy tank. Because all high schoolers have big fish tanks under their beds. The voice seemed to belong to the girl halfway off her bunk, either that or the guy in the corner had a voice that didn't suit him in the slightest. 

"And another point to Hilbert," the other girl said as she jumped the rest of the ladder to the floor, a freckled, tall girl with bright red hair pulled back into a tight bun. "How'd you guess?" 

"Simple probability Minkowski," the boy—Hilbert— replied, looking up from the book he was reading, his glasses sliding down his nose. "Chances of Eiffel being male were far higher. Especially since ratio of females out weighed males." He spoke with a thick Russian accent, his gaze fixing on Doug. "You going to let him stand outside all day Hera?"

The purple-haired girl scrunched up her nose, shooting Hilbert a withering look before beckoning Doug into the room.

"Er." Doug scratched his neck, shuffling in after her. "Hi."

"Name's Minkowski," bunk-bed girl held out a hand for Doug to shake, the other resting lightly on her hip. "Your name's Eiffel right?"

"Doug," Doug corrected, slipping off his bag. "Eiffel's my last name." 

Hera rolled her eyes, moving her hand in a sweeping gesture, before, with her palm facing down, opening and closing it. 

_We know that,_ she was saying. But Doug did not understand, so Minkowski repeated for her friend. 

"We know that," she pointed to the fourth freshly made bunk. A collection of labels had been stuck to the headboard, pasted over and over each other in a yellowing pile. 

D. EIFFEL said the paper. 

"We weren't sure what the D stranded for. Cutter has a habit of not telling us the important stuff," Minkowski explained, leaning against the ladder of her bunk, her arms crossed. 

The guy's a fucking ass Hera said but this time no one saw, she didn't mind. They all already knew. 

"Speaking of which," Minkowski pointed to the teen huddled in the corner with his book. "Hilbert, our resident science nerd." 

"Am not science nerd," Hilbert grumbled beside the fish tank, which Doug now saw seemed to contain some kind of plant life behind the condensation-stained glass. It looked like a swamp in a jar. 

Minkowski ignored him, instead gesturing to the pink-haired girl. "That's Hera and since Cutter obviously didn't tell you," she grit her teeth and frowned deeply, with these last words. "She's mute." 

"Right," Doug looked to Hera who looked back with a raised eyebrow. "Hi." 

Hera waved, before moving her hands again. _Nice to meet you._

"Erm..." 

Hera tried again, mouthing over dramatically. 

"Oh right!" Doug whacked his hand to his forehead. "Nice to meet you too." He made a mental note to google ASL. 

He gave the room another once over and managed a small smile at Hilbert who remained expressionless and once again returned to his book, sinking lower into his corner. He was a small, stout boy with red-splotched skin and a middle-aged man's grey hair. He didn't look like a student, if anything he looked like a teacher. 

"It's kinda weird that it's co-ed," He commented, trying make conversation. "Do they really have that much faith in their students?" 

"More students to a room lower chances," Hilbert stated blankly, not looking up. 

"I dunno," Doug said, setting his bag on his bottom bunk. "Some people might take that as a challenge." 

_Oh my fucking God._ Hera mouthed, facepalming. 

"What?" Doug grinned and straighten up, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Some people—ow!"

Minkowski whacked him on the back of the head, not harshly as to be honest it was more of a light tap than an actual attack. 

"That hurt! Jesus Mincowski," Doug whined, rubbing the back of his head. 

"Minkowski," she corrected. 

"Bless you."

The conversation ended there and Doug began to unpack his measly amount of personal items consisting of his laptop chock-full of tv-shows and movies which he had made sure to stock up on once he found out that the Hephaestus didn't have unsupervised Internet. (He'd be damned if they got their hands on his history) along with quite a few cigarette cartons stuffed into his socks. (Because why the hell not?) 

He took out one of these now, placing one cigarette between his lips before shoving the carton under the bottom back's mattress. He sucked on the end of the cigarette in his mouth, the taste of cancerous-ash spilling onto his tongue. He wasn't that stupid, he wasn't going to light one in his dorm. Maybe the bathroom had a window? If he rationed his supplies he should last to the end of term...

"What's that Minkowski asked, making him jump. Doug ripped the cigarette from his mouth, stuffing it in his pocket. 

"Nothing," he said quickly, turning round with a shifty look. Minkowski didn't seem like the kind of person to like cigarettes.

"Nothing?" Minkowski echoed. 

"Nothing." 

She grunted and climbed up to her bunk, lying flat on her stomach. She seemed tired, knacked even. 

Doug moved on to the posters. A collage of Gundam, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Deadpool and Star Wars making its home on the wall. Next came the uniform:

White collared shirts, blank pants and tie. As well as a collection of jumpers that were available in three colours. Because this school was greedy as fuck apparently. Blue, yellow, and Doug's personal favourite, Red. 

With a little sigh Doug admired his handy work, it looked almost like home. Almost. He turned to look at the room once again, his hands on his hips. 

He looked at Hera dicking around in her laptop, at Minkowski who was sleeping(?) and Hilbert reading his book. These were the people he was stuck with for the next year and a half at most.   
Doug smiled to himself and remember the single piece of useful advice he had been given before arriving at the Hephaestus. 

"Don't fuck it up."


	2. Toothbrush Theif

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doug's first week at Hephestus doesn't seem to be going too well.  
> Plus, accidental toothbrush thievery, notes and being a little crazy.

There was no aircon in Wolf 359, or if there was it had broken a long time ago. This made sleeping difficult so it wasn't exactly uncommon for Eiffel to over sleep. So no one was really surprised when bolted through the cafeteria doors. His towel still wrapped around his neck, uniform half on, and toothbrush sticking out of his lips—even if it had only been a week.

"Why didn't you wake me up?!" He asked, slamming his hands down down on his dormmate's table. None of whom looked up. 

"Ve did," Hilbert answered grumpily. They all seemed groggy from the hot night. 

Hera raised four fingers, a disapproving look on her face. 

"I thought I was still dreaming!" Doug groaned, hanging his head. "Why must we have mornings?" He sighed, slumping into his seat beside Hera.

"Is that my toothbrush?" Minkowski asked wrinkling her nose. "Please tell me you didn't use my toothbrush Eiffel."

"Maybe?" Eiffel said with a squeak, pulling the toothbrush from his mouth, inspecting the red plastic case. "Yeah...yeah it's your toothbrush..."

_Gross!_ Hera signed.

"Gross," Hilbert confirmed.

Eiffel paused before copying the sign mumbling gross under his breath, quickly snapping back to his previous rant. "Well maybe if you woke me up we wouldn't be in this mess!"  
He abandoned the toothbrush, grabbing a slice of toast from Hilbert's plate. "Why'd you even get toast if you never eat it Dr. Doom?" 

"Saving vor later Eiffel," said Hilbert, snatching it back. 

"Yeah, yeah." 

There was no Doug anymore apparently, as everyone returned to him as "Eiffel" a nickname that had stuck like glue. Eh, it could be worse. 

Hera edged her plate towards him, piled high with extra...everything. Fruit, eggs, bacon, everything. 

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" Eiffel asked with grin, taking a large bite of scrambled egg. "Tis good."

"I can't believe you stole my toothbrush." 

"I didn't steal it Minkowski. I borrowed it," Eiffel pouted. "I'm no toothbrush thief." 

"I didn't even know you showered regularly," Minkowski mused casually, picking up her toothbrush with cautious fingers. 

"What's that meant to mean?" Eiffel asked, his mouthful. 

"You stink," Hilbert and Minkowski said together. 

"Hey I don't stink!" Eiffel paused before lifting the neck of his shirt and sniffing. "I don't stink!" He turned self-consciously to Hera. "Do I stink?"

Hera's shoulders raised to her ears and she held up her hand, placing her thumb and four finger a little way apart. 

Eiffel held his hands above his head. "I just came out here to eat and I'm feeling so attacked right now." 

"Smell like old chain smoker," Hilbert chimed in. 

"I do not!" 

"You really do."

Eiffel shrugged his shoulders, he hadn't been smoking as much as he wanted to in the past week. Then again if he had he would have gone through his entire stash already. 

He liked the taste, and so what if he smoked in the shower, it wasn't hurting anyone. Except him. And maybe Minkowski's toothbrush. 

(*^_^*)

There were a few rules when being taught in Cutter's economics classroom the Eiffel learnt, very, very quickly. 

Capitalism is God  
Cutter is the second in command.  
Only talk if you want to get your head cut off. 

The thing was Eiffel and Economics got along about as well as the Light and Dark side, and if he'd been at any other school he would have placed his head firmly on his desk and slept. Something a copy of Oxford dictionary narrowly missing his head on the first day made clear was not an option. 

He doodled poorly done portraits in the margin of his notes, squeaked his chair, tapped his foot. But nothing could stop the long periods of fucking boredom. Luckily however, Hera had the desk next to him. 

**Bored,** Eiffel wrote in a piece of paper, chucking it in Hera's general direction. 

She ignored it. 

Another piece landed on her notebook, and another, and another. 

**BORED.**

She turned to Eiffel shooting him a withering look that seemed to say "Really Doug? Really?"

Eiffel nodded in reply. 

_Read a book_ Hera wrote in her margin. 

**Do you want me to be killed by Mr. Lord and mighty?**

_If you leave me alone, yes._

**But I'm bored.  
** **...  
**Notice me sempai.****

_What is wrong with you?!_

**Lots of stuff.  
Like wow, you wouldn't believe all the stuff.**

_You know what, I think I would._

Cutter droned on about the depression, Eiffel looked at his classmates taking notes.

_Why'd you take econs anyway?_ Hera asked before noting down the reasons behind the Wall Street crash.

**I used to want to be something fancy, like a CEO.** Eiffel answered, doodling a odd patten of scribbles and lines. 

_Used to?_

**I'm a man of many vocations.**

_What you want to be now?_

**Cook? I dunno. Ask again in a week it'll change. :P  
What do you want to be? **

Hera paused, glancing at Eiffel who grinned cheekily, dumbly. It wasn't the small smile of a teenager trying to pass secret notes to pass the time, the flat, closed-lipped kind. But wide, unapologetic and toothy. 

_Computer engineer._

**Cool!** Eiffel grinned. **Must be really really sm—**

He'd run out of room to write, but the message got across. The two glanced at each other, Eiffel grinning, Hera smiling. They both turned to their teacher and started furiously taking notes, Eiffel in big, ballooning scrawl, Hera in looping cursive. They waited until the both had finished their page, took out a fresh sheet and started the conversation again. 

**What do you mean by computer engineer exactly?  
Like making computers? **

_Programming._

**Apple?**

_Don't insult me._

**Hey could you make me a alarm clock?  
Like Wallace and Gromit style?**

_I could make you an alarm._

**A W &G style one?**

_No._

**:(.**

"Douglass, Hera." 

Both students froze, their backs becoming ram rod stiff. Cutter didn't turn to them, his chalk still gliding across the blackboard. 

"Eiffel. How about you read out to the class, your surely lovely conversation?" 

Eiffel looked down at his notes, erred and shook his head. "We...weren't talking Sir." 

Cutter's eyebrow quirked and he turned to face the class, hands on hips. "The note Eiffel."

"What note?" Eiffel turned to Hera for back up. "Hera, do you see a note anywhere?"  
She shook her head. 

"See Sir!" Eiffel squeaked. "Absolutely no notes, Ihavenoideawhatyou'retalkingabout." 

Someone at the back of the classroom sniggered and Hera blushed deeply. 

"You're sure Eiffel?" Cutter asked doubtingly, his jaw clenching, still smiling. 

This was what was scary as crap about Cutter: he made you think nothing would go wrong if you told the truth. Which was a big lie. A big, huge, gigantic fucking lie. 

"Sure as sure Sir!" 

Hera copied him in sign. _Sure as sure._

There was a long silence, no one laughed. It felt as though the air had been sucked from the room. Each of the students had been given a firm warning from their upperclassmen to not, not, set Cutter off. Apparently it was rare, but practically traumatic. At first no one had truly listened, but now on the bridge of a possible fireworks display of wrath, no one wanted to risk it. 

Cutter crinkled his nose and shrugged, "that's what I though," he said returning to the board. 

**Holy shit that was close,** Eiffel wrote as soon as Cutter's back was turned, finally allowing himself to breathe again. 

_You're still writing.  
Doug you're insane._

Doug had run out of room so instead just found himself grinning, rubbing the back of his neck. He raised his hand placing his finger and thumb a way apart. 

 

Little bit.


End file.
